


The Exposure Of The Nonpareil Club

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [48]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Army, Blackmail, Caring Sherlock Holmes, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Photography, Romance, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A blackmailing ramp is exposed thanks to a chance sighting of a photograph, and Sherlock plays Cupid to ensure that a lady gets her gentleman – even if she does insist on using a dreadful six-letter word to describe him!





	The Exposure Of The Nonpareil Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indygirl96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indygirl96/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

One of the many curious things about the cases in which my brother Sherlock involved himself was how sometimes the strangest things led to the criminals involved being brought to justice. In this peculiar case, which took place right at the start of what were to become known as 'the Naughty Nineties', a glance into a shop window led to the downfall of a man whose potential to cause trouble was immense, and yet who was destroyed because of the love of a woman. 

Kean has just promised to 'destroy' me later, and that panties will be involved. I am really beginning to wonder about that life-insurance policy he has on me.....

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

Many of the stories I have published about my brilliant friend's crime-solving abilities were, by their nature, unknown to the general public beforehand. In this instance however Holmes was the driving force behind the resolution of one of the great scandals of our age, although yet again, because of two innocent people being involved I was unable to publish his involvement in the matter at the time. However, said people did promise me that, once certain relatives of theirs who might have been shocked at the revelations in this case had passed on, then I might publish the case.

It was another foggy day in London Town, but fortunately one enlivened by a visit from the effervescent Miss Day whom I tried not to think had most likely come straight from her latest 'client'. Holmes had once assured me that the lady only dispatched those into the next world who truly deserved it, but I still felt uneasy in the presence of a trained killer, especially one who seemed to have come fresh from the local ladies' college.

“This is something a little strange that Miss Richards wishes you to look at for her”, the lady said, sitting down gracefully in the famous fireside chair. “It concerns the Nonpareil Club.”

Holmes looked surprised.

“That is the institution only a few doors down from my brother Mycroft's own establishment, the Diogenes”, he observed. “Is something criminal happening there?”

“I have no idea”, our visitor said shortly.

That seemed singularly uninformative, yet Holmes' face fell markedly. He obviously spotted my confusion and turned to me.

“In a city where money will buy almost any information”, he explained, “the fact that no information is coming from somewhere suggests something rather significant may be happening therein.”

I could see his point. I thought back to the case of the so-called Baldwin Gang, who had turned out to be a cover for certain activities by certain high-ranking officers of the Metropolitan Police that this country was now better off without. Holmes turned back to our guest.

“What put you onto this non-case?” he asked.

“I suppose you might say it was good old Divine Providence”, Miss Day said. “Miss Richards employs a number of girls at the office, mostly those that she thinks are not for field-work but capable of keeping our records in order. Last Friday, as was the custom for the end of the working week, she sent one of the girls out to the local bakery. She feels that a little pleasant pastry as one heads into the weekend is a nice reward for her staff.”

“That is most considerate of her”, Holmes said. “Do go on.”

Miss Day winced for some reason.

“The girl sent out last week was a Miss Elizabeth Woodhouse”, she said. “Twenty-one and a capable girl for her age, I suppose, if a little... well, a bit of a wool-gatherer at times. I was there when she came back, and as it was the lunch-break she started enthusing with the other girls about a photograph in a studio she had passed where they display some of their work in the window. Though it pains me to say it, she told us all that she thought one of the four soldiers pictured in it was – I cannot believe she actually uttered that dreadful word – ‘dreamy'!”

I turned away to hide my smile. The well-dressed assassin sounded like her co-worker had just confessed to a massacre of puppies!

“You have not made any efforts to find the man yourself?” Holmes asked. 

“Not at the time”, she said, looking sharply at me for some reason. “I had a rather urgent client whom I had to dispatch before he got to his next victim, who was to be his own dear wife. However, what happened afterwards did draw my interest. Miss Woodhouse wanted to know more of her.... that person in the photograph, so went into the shop and turned on the waterworks for the owner. Honestly, the things some men will do just because a woman cries! He told her that the name of the man who paid for the photo was Lieutenant Jeremiah Upwood, the son of Colonel Theobald Upwood. He is not the one that she thinks” - she waved her arm and winced again - “that word. That occurred on the Saturday. The following Monday the picture was taken down first thing in the morning and nothing was put in its place. That struck me as odd and I do not like odd, so I made some inquiries.”

“What did you find out?” Holmes asked.

“I spoke to the lieutenant, and he told me that the man was a fellow lieutenant who had died of an illness two months ago, not long after the picture was taken. I did not however believe him because, as you might well imagine, I am used to people lying in my line of work.”

Mostly lying on the ground bleeding to death, I thought acidly. She looked at me again and I swallowed nervously.

“This was where I found the link to the Nonpareil Club”, she said, still eyeing me somewhat. “Colonel Upwood is a member there but none of his three sons are. That seemed really strange – you know how clubs tend to run down the generations especially in the military, and when I dug further I found - absolutely nothing. I am very much afraid that the fact no-one associated with the club was prepared to say anything suggests the worst. Although I did find one thing elsewhere.”

“Go on”, Holmes said.

“The owner of the shop opposite was most observant”, she said. “One of the club stewards went round to the photographer's first thing Monday morning – he was outside half an hour before it opened, standing in the pouring rain – and that was when the photograph was removed. Something in that picture is incriminating and I would like to know what.”

“And why the Nonpareil Club was so keen to have it promptly removed once a lady had taken a interest in it”, Holmes agreed, “all because she considered one of the soldiers....”

Miss Day winced again.

“Of particular interest”, Holmes said carefully, earning himself a grateful smile. “This is _most_ intriguing. We would be delighted to investigate this matter for you.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Holmes had another matter to hand that would occupy him that day so I returned to my surgery to put in some hours there. I had, I thought, been exceedingly fortunate to have been able to afford the place as a family house and business in somewhere as nice as Paddington. Though that particular day I was to discover that chance had had little to do with it.

My wife was waiting for me when I finished my work and I could see at once that she was troubled by something. She often found it difficult to express herself at times like these (a certain detective soon to be ex-friend is muttering something about pots and kettles as I write this!) but eventually came to the point.

“A Miss Day called round”, she said. “About your friend Mr. Holmes.”

I was most surprised. What could Miss Day have had to say that could not have been said to me earlier? My wife blushed.

“I know I have not always been.... accepting of the time you spend on those adventures with him”, she said, so quietly I could hardly hear her. “And then there is the danger... well, I do not like it, John. But Miss Day thought I should know the truth about Lord Montford.”

I blinked at the apparent _non sequitur_.

“The philanthropist who paid for this house, provided it was used as a surgery”, I said. “What about him?”

She looked even more anxious, if that were possible.

“Lord Montfort's wife was originally Mademoiselle Vernet!”

For a few moments I was even more confused but then I remembered. And went deathly pale.

“You mean.....”

She nodded.

“Your friend put the money up for this house, using his relative so you would not know”, she said. “Your Miss Day – a lovely lady, although she does scare me for some reason – she felt that we should know.”

Oh.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I knew instinctively that Holmes would not like it if I tried to thank him for his great munificence, but his generous gift made me determined to be a better friend to him if I could. I had no way of knowing that I had barely a year left before he would be ripped out of my life in the most painful way imaginable.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day I went round to Baker Street. I was sure that Holmes could detect something was off with me but thankfully he was fully focussed on the case. We went at once to see Miss Elizabeth Woodhouse who lived in rooms not far from the British Museum. She was a charming lady, pretty in the Classical manner.

“This all seems so silly when I look back at it”, she said. “I know that I am being melodramatic, but the moment I saw that photograph I wanted to know more of that poor man. He looked so handsome and so…. I know it is an odd thing to say, but so _sad_. As if the cares of the whole world were on his shoulders.”

“I find it curious that the shop-owner took the photograph down so quickly that he did not even have time to find something to replace it with”, Holmes said. “And Miss Day seems to believe that the man you saw is still alive.”

“Felicity is extremely clever”, Miss Woodhouse said. “It may be wishful thinking on my part, but I suspect she is right. She usually is.”

Holmes thought for a moment.

“I am going to investigate this case further, Miss Woodhouse”, he said eventually. “Something about it feels wrong and I would like to know the truth, to satisfy my own curiosity. I shall of course keep both you and Miss Day fully informed of any developments, but in all fairness I must say that it may be Lieutenant Upwood was indeed speaking the truth when he said that his friend had died.”

She smiled at us both.

“Thank you.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“We are going to need to call in the services of my brother Mycroft on this”, Holmes said once we were in the cab headed back to Baker Street. “I need to see that photograph in order to make any progress, and I feel sure that Lieutenant Upwood would not co-operate if approached. At least not at this juncture”

“How are you going to get him to show you the photograph, then?” I asked.

“It depends on precisely what the shop-owner did when he took that photograph down”, he said. “I think he would have either given it to the man who spoke to him, or have placed it somewhere for collection by a trusted courier. Even our formidable postal service is not foolproof and clearly this photograph is important. But I also think that he will have kept the negative from which a copy could be developed if necessary. In the haste to remove it from public view that would likely have been overlooked, for now at least.

“And you think that your brother can persuade him?” I asked dubiously.

“Mycroft does not 'persuade'”, Holmes said firmly. “He demands!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Two days later Holmes received a photograph in the post, along with a note from his brother Mycroft. He shook his head when he read it.

“Apparently my dear brother chose to have some of his men break into the shop to obtain the negative, then break back in the next night to replace it”, he said. “I suppose that the idea of using more conventional means did not occur to him!”

I looked at the photograph that was supposed to be the crux of our case. It showed four lieutenants all in regimental uniform, one sat in the very centre, two either side of him, and the fourth stood behind the others looking almost apologetic at being there. That, presumably, was the object of Miss Elizabeth Woodhouse's affections. Frankly he was not much to look at; he was about twenty-five to thirty years of age and possibly with some foreign ancestry judging from his face.

“They are four men in the Queen's army”, I said. “It does not show much.”

Holmes grinned.

“On the contrary”, he said. “It shows rather a lot.”

“I do not see it”, I complained.

“Then I would draw your attention to two things”, he said. “The unusual pallor on the fourth man's face, and his nose.”

“What about his nose?” I asked, staring at the photograph. It seemed perfectly normal to me.

“I think a visit to the shop-owner is called for”, Holmes said. “I will need your medical expertise to back me up. I may have to stretch the truth just a little.”

I did not believe that 'little' for one minute. And I was right to be so damn cynical.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The shop in question was Watkin & Sons, Professional Photographers. Inside we were met by a bearded gentleman of about forty-five years of age who introduced himself as the owner, Mr. Edward Watkin. 

“I would rather have the conversation that we are about to undertake in private, sir”, Holmes said gravely. “It is not something that I believe you would wish one of your valued customers to walk in on.”

The man looked understandably nervous but after exchanging a few words with his employee he guided us out to a small office in the back. Once we were all seated Holmes began.

“I wish you to understand the utter seriousness of this conversation, Mr. Watkin”, he said severely. “I am representing the British government in a most important and delicate matter, and we may be dealing with the very gravest of consequences. Not just the utter ruination of your business, which to us is but a minor consideration, but death and panic on a gargantuan scale.”

The man was already beginning to sweat.

“I do not understand”, he said.

“It concerns a photograph that you took some two to three months ago”, Sherlock said. “I really hope that you can remember it for your own sake. It was commissioned by a Lieutenant Upwood, and it featured himself and three of his fellow officers.”

The man frowned.

“This is not about that crying woman, is it?” he asked. “Because if it is.....”

“This is about your certain destruction if you keep interrupting me!” Holmes snapped, which was quite unlike him. “My time is my own, and I am putting myself at risk by coming here. Now listen!”

The man shrank back before his anger; My friend could be terrifying when roused. 

“This does concern the fourth gentleman in that photograph, though not for any good reason”, Holmes said. “And not to do with that dratted woman, whose involvement in the case is a complication that we could well have done without. As a photographer you would have had to stand close to these people to put them into the correct positions before taking the photograph. When you took this particular picture, did you notice anything unusual about that fourth soldier?”

The photographer hesitated.

“An unusually pale face, perhaps?” Holmes prompted.

“Yes, he was rather pale”, the man said. “And he seemed very nervous. He did not like me standing close to him.”

Holmes sighed.

“That is unsurprising”, he said. “I only wish that we had been able to contact Lieutenant Upwood directly, but for obvious reasons we cannot.”

“Why not?” the photographer asked. Holmes leant forward.

“Mr. Watkin”, he said gravely, “there is a very strong probability that when he visited your shop that day, the fourth man was in the early stages of a deadly disease that he had contracted from the his recent time in India. It has an unusually long gestation period – about three months, is that not right doctor?”

He looked at me for support.

“Indeed”, I said. “Three months is the norm.”

“And then, only then, it becomes highly infectious”, Holmes said. “In terms of fatalities it is not far behind the fabled Black Death. Fortunately it only tends to spread to others once that period is elapsed.” He looked around the office pointedly before adding ominously, “ _most of the time._ ”

The photographer was clearly close to a panic attack. I almost felt sorry for the fellow.

“You are saying that my shop – I – could be infected?” he gasped.

“There is a treatment”, Holmes said, “but there is also a problem over that treatment. Like the Black Death this disease has two forms, again a severe one and a milder one. The application of the wrong treatment to a person would likely kill them. We need to track down this man and find out which strain he has. Today would be good; within the next hour would be even better.”

“But what about me?” the photographer demanded.

“Once we ascertain the illness we can then decide upon the treatment”, Holmes said. “If it is the mild strain then there is no risk of contagion; indeed, that manifests itself as little more than a common cold, sometimes with a sore throat. But a pale face like you describe” - he shook his head ominously - “ _that_ does not bode well.”

“I shall fetch my records at once!” the photographer said, almost falling out of his chair in his eagerness. He all but ran from the room.

I looked at Holmes sharply.

“Infectious disease?” I asked. “What if he talks?”

“And tell everyone that they could catch something horrible by coming into his shop?” Holmes asked, quirking an eyebrow at me. “It would be the death of his business. No, he will not talk.”

The devious bastard!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The other lieutenants in the picture turned out to be Blythe-Waring, Fellowes and Adelphus, the last mentioned being the target of our inquiry. A further week passed, and although Sherlock did not ostensibly do much with regard to the case I knew that he was up to something. I asked him what one evening, and to my surprise he looked at me a little awkwardly.

“As I have said before”, he said, “I sometimes have to deal with certain criminal elements of society who barely trust me myself. They would certainly never countenance your presence in the room, much as I would myself wish it. One of them was here today, and I have paid him a large sum of money to obtain what is in that shoe-box over there.”

He gestured for me to open the box, and I did so. It contained what seemed to me a spectacularly unremarkable set of index cards.

“This was worth breaking into somewhere?” I asked dubiously.

“It comes from the Nonpareil Club”, Holmes smiled, “and it is worth several thousand pounds to the men – I will not say gentlemen – whose names are on it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I am expecting a visitor here shortly”, he said, clearly evading my question. “Two gentlemen in fact. I am afraid that the news that I have for them will be mixed.”

To my great annoyance he picked up the newspaper and would say no more. I settled for a mild pout of displeasure and reached for my pipe.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Just over a quarter of an hour later two men were duly shown into our room. I recognized them both from the photograph; Lieutenant Jeremiah Upwood and the 'dreamy' (I was beginning to empathize with Miss Day over that word!) Lieutenant Hector Adelphus.

“Please to be seated, both of you”, Holmes said courteously. “And because I know you must be wondering why I sent for you both, you should know that the news I have for you this evening is mostly good.”

“Mostly?” Lieutenant Upwood asked.

“Good for you”, Holmes said. “Perhaps less so for certain other people, particularly those at a certain London club that you are both aware of. Watson, what is the time?”

I was surprised at the question but looked at the grandfather clock across the room.

“Just before six o'clock”, I said. “Two minutes to go.”

Holmes smiled.

“Two minutes from now, the police will raid the Nonpareil Club”, he said. “In a small and well-concealed back office they will find a massive set of card indices, providing blackmail information on many who rank as the great and the good in London society.”

I gasped in horror. Lieutenant Upwood in particular had gone even paler.

“However”, Holmes said, “there is one thing that they will _not_ find. Thanks to a curious alignment of circumstances, I was able to arrange for one set of files to be removed from that office before the raid could take place. The ones appertaining to your family, Lieutenant Upwood. In particular, to certain events in the subcontinent.”

Holmes caught the eyes of both men and gestured to the open show-box. Their sighs of relief were palpable.

“So let us look at what those files contained”, Holmes said, “and how I came to have an interest in them. It all began with the crime committed by _you_ , Lieutenant Upwood, when you arranged a certain photograph.”

“What do you mean?” the soldier asked, clearly surprised.

“Misrepresentation of a person as a member of the British Army is an offence punishable by time in jail”, Holmes said gravely. “Not only that, but those aiding and abetting the crime also attract a penalty, especially if they are in the armed forces themselves.”

“But they were real soldiers!” I objected.

Holmes looked pointedly at the younger man of the two.

“I know several things about _you_ , sir”, he said. “First, your bearing and physicality suggests that you have never been a soldier in your young life. Second, your nose is a rather interesting shape.”

That seemed a little rude I thought, but Lieutenant Upwood nodded ruefully.

“You know”, he said sourly. “Yes, Hector here is my half-brother, the result of an affair my father the Colonel had with a native Indian woman.”

Holmes nodded.

“Mr. Hector Adelphus”, he said. “ _'Eterothalis adelphos'_ being the Greek for 'half-brother'.”

“My uncle Isaiah who was in the same regiment, he knew”, Lieutenant Upwood admitted, “and he managed things for him so I would not find out. But when Father had that illness that nearly killed him, I had to be told.”

“What did you do?” Holmes asked.

“I was lucky”, he said. “My time over there was almost up, and I was allowed to return early to sort out the estate. My executors George and Tom – the other two men in that picture – came back with me; Father had already been sent home with his regiment as his time finished before mine. I met Hector and persuaded him to come to England with me.”

“I owe my brother everything”, the younger man said, his English accent impeccable. “I trust you will deal fairly with him, sir.”

Holmes hesitated.

“I am afraid that is where the good news gives way to the bad, for a time at least”, he said. “It so happened that a lady who worked for a company where I have connections caught sight of the photograph of the four of you, and decided that she was deeply in love with you, 'lieutenant'.”

The young man blushed deeply.

“News of this reached the person behind the Nonpareil Club”, Holmes went on, “and he quickly realized the danger. His blackmailing organization was not the sort that wished to attract the attentions of anyone associated with this lady's employer, attentions which often result in people ending up in the next world somewhat sooner than they had expected. He moved swiftly to retrieve the photograph - but in his haste he overlooked the negative.”

Both men had gone red for some reason.

“I am sorry”, Holmes said. “Your father the colonel did much for the army in his time. But the blackmail organization that he has been running from the Nonpareil Club ceased to function when the clock struck just now. I can however tell you that the raid had been carried out by certain discreet officers of the government rather than the law, and that all the incriminating files will be destroyed by the end of today.”

“Can you trust your brother on that?” I asked dubiously. He grinned and indicated the show-box.

“I can when he believes I have the peccadilloes of several famous people in that shoe-box along with the lieutenant's past”, he said. “Now gentlemen, this leaves us with Miss Woodhouse.”

“The lady who thinks herself in love”, Lieutenant Upwood sighed.

“You must allow a meeting”, Holmes told him. “That will be the price of my services to you in this matter, which bearing in mind all I have done is I think a reasonable one.”

“People are cruel, especially given my brother's background”, Lieutenant Upwood said. “Can you not correct her false impression?”

“Correct her about what?” I asked.

“Theatrics”, Holmes said, as if that explained everything. 

“How did you know?” the younger man asked.

“Several things”, Holmes said, “the most obvious being that the British Army, for reasons of rank stupidity, does not allow the native Indian to ascend to the dizzy heights of the rank of lieutenant. A photographer who does a lot of military work would know that, but Mr. Watkin was presented with what he thought were four white officers even if one of them looked somewhat foreign. You are what is unfairly referred to as 'a half-caste', and applying theatrical face powder completed the illusion.”

“Your nose!” I blurted out. The young man looked at me in surprise. 

“Pardon?” 

“One of the clues was that both you and the lieutenant here inherited the aquiline nose from a common ancestor”, Holmes explained.

Lieutenant Upwood nodded and leant forward.

“I urge you to see my position, gentlemen”, he said. “Your Miss Woodhouse has fallen in love with a fantasy, a handsome white soldier with foreign looks. I love Hector as a brother but... in my experience people will be people. Yet you are right, Mr. Holmes. You have done us both a great service today, and if Hector agrees I shall invite Miss Woodhouse to meet him.”

“I would be delighted”, his half-brother said.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Lieutenant Upwood’s fears proved less than groundless, and Miss Woodhouse made it clear to his half-brother that his skin colour and/or racial origins interested her marginally less than the previous month's rainfall figures for Outer Mongolia. They were married at the end of the following year, and had their first son, Ajax, the year after that. They both sent a very nice letter of thanks, which I know Holmes was pleased with. Colonel Upwood was forced to resign his commission rather than be cashiered out of the Army which, given the effect such a thing would have had on his innocent offspring, was I suppose acceptable. One cannot make an omelette without...

Ye Gods, even I was using that dratted phrase now!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
